CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #60

Well, some things never change. I've had four and a half months to write this season's first vanity card -- four and a half months -- and here I am, the morning the damn thing is due, writing like a madman. If nothing else, this exercise in blind panic causes me to reflect on how I crawled out of high school in June, 1970. And to reflect on how my son, following in his father's hand and kneeprints, executed the same escape maneuver in June, 2000. And finally, how thirty years from now, perhaps his son will be putting off for tomorrow what could have easily been done today. Procrastination. I'm good at it. Since I began writing this vanity card, I've managed to peruse both the L.A. and New York Times, drink yet another cup of coffee, hide in the bathroom to read a few more precious pages of a Philip Roth novel. (Reading Roth causes me to seriously question my vocation. It's sort of the prose version of when I was a young, journeyman guitarist and I first heard Pat Metheny. I think that was around 1974.) Anyway, procrastination... oh, look! I'm out of room! The space constraints of the vanity card have forced me to stop writing before I'm able to cleverly fini